Hmmm. I'm the scrounge. Interesting. My friends and I used to describe people as scrounges. I know it's not nice. However, it seems that I'm finally getting the come-uppance I deserve with the realization that I'm the scrounge. I was trying to find some pants to wear and I realized that in my regular rotation of clothes I keep pants that have large black ink stains, rips, and holes. Instead of just giving them to DI I think, "These will be my new work pants." But you see, I don't really work, rendering the need for "work pants" minimal at best. Consequently I end up wearing these pants all the time for non-work occasions. I finally decided to just get rid of them. "I should write a blog about how I'm such a scrounge ha ha!"
Later that day I noticed the pants I had decided to wear--the pants that in my mind are my "good" pants (pants that I would probably change out of if I were to work)--had a hole in the knee and two large holes in the back above the pockets. I really am a scrounge. And then other hard evidence started to pile up in my mind. Evidence such as how I believe that circumstances beyond my control often prevent me from showering and how I think that a wallet made out of tape is a really good present. And when someone mentioned that they had an extra comforter in their closet I asked if I could have it. And now it's on my bed. And how I asked for a bed out of someone's garage. And I'm not even poor--I'm not saying I'm rich, but I can afford pants without large gaping holes in them that show my underwear.
I used to work with a man name Carl Wayne who, one day, stooped to remove a half-eaten apple out of the garbage can, took a bite, and finished it off. Ladies and gentleman, I thought I was better than Carl Wayne that day but I was wrong. Because today when I realized that the cold sopping end of my bath towel had actually been dipped into the toilet by my son I simply hung it back up on the towel rack. "I'll use this later--when it's dry."